


Passing the Time

by BoisterousBattlecat



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Biphobia Mention, F/F, MeetCute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26335090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoisterousBattlecat/pseuds/BoisterousBattlecat
Summary: Aerith is balancing three distinct bags and a bouquet of flowers when she sees the cute woman.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Tifa Lockhart
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Passing the Time

**Author's Note:**

> thx to [sanctum_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctum_c/pseuds/sanctum_c) for betareading and spotting me misspelling simba's name because i've never watched lion king

Aerith is balancing three distinct bags and a bouquet of flowers when she sees the cute woman. She’s muscley, tall, well, more honestly, tall _-ish_ , and despite looking like they were gotten off Goodwill’s racks her clothes compliment her in that way clothes compliment pretty people who somehow look good in everything… 

Okay, yeah, she’ll admit it, she was just staring at her bare arms! They’re _toned_ and god Aerith is a slut for big strong people.

She hefts up her belongings again despite the protests of her arms, debates the merits of pretending this never happened and looking up at some nice clouds instead, considers that nothing better to do has magically appeared in the last few minutes, and thus finally strides over (pushing aside a few people) to cutie. “Hey,” Aerith says, rolling it like a femme fatale. “You also waiting for the subway?”

Cutie actually starts a bit, looks up at her and blushes a delicate pink. She puts the phone she was reading away into a pocket of her jeans. “Um, no. For a person, actually. A… childhood acquaintance of sorts.” She pauses a bit, but then her almost-brown eyes flicker down to Aerith’s possessions. “Are you perhaps visiting someone?”

“I live with my mom,” and honestly Aerith’s never understood all the disdain for people who do that given that it’s just practical, “but it’s her birthday.”

“Oh!” cutie exclaims, pink still dusting her cheeks. Aside from the heavy and swingable purse slung over her shoulder, Aerith is also carrying a brand-new radio in one plastic bag hung on an arm, an assortment of bodice-rippers in the bookstore’s fancy new paper bag on another arm, and a bouquet of red-and-yellow flowers arranged over at the shop pressed tightly against her chest. “You must really love her.”

“Yeah, she’s really taken care of me.” There’s a brief awkward pause where cutie is clearly running platitudes through her head. She leans in before she can say anything. “So, I’m Aerith. You? I can’t keep calling you,” her tongue stumbles despite her determination to always be fearless, “uh, you.”

Aerith’s cheek ache from the strain of the very stupid smile stuck on her face. _No, Aerith,_ and she (imagines) slapping herself on her face, _you deserve to be just as out and proud as any het!_

Cutie, aka the woman she’s currently embarrassing herself in front of makes quite a few sounds through the course of Aerith’s aborted flirting attempt, first guilty then delighted and finally a brief sweet burst of giggles. “My apologies,” she says with a smile once she stops, and the difference in their heights is only accentuated by Aerith leaning towards her. “My name is,” her eyes dart away for a second, “Tifa Lockhart.”

That said, Tifa extends a hand straight into Aerith’s bouquet.

“Oh,” Aerith says, feeling the not-unpleasant weight of Tifa’s hand press down, then laughs at the mortified expression making itself known on the other woman’s face.

“Oh,” Tifa says, as she stares at her hand buried in yellow daisies and red hyacinths, only a few inches from Aerith’s chest. Then: “Sorry!” Tifa blushes ear-to-ear, and it’s a bit strange and almost adorable how this woman in a beanie and jeans can act so Victorian. “I really can’t believe I did that…” She looks at the bouquet as if it will disappear if she considers it hard enough.

“It’s fine!” Aerith says, gingerly stepping back and smoothing out the bouquet until the flowers move back into place. “See? No lasting damage. Not like it’s fallen into a puddle or anything.”

“That’s good,” Tifa says distractedly, hand still floating in the air where it’d fallen. Her lip twists into a slight pinched frown.

“So!” Aerith says with an almost manic edge to break the silence. “What’s your job? Is it…” Tifa may not be a hunk but nevertheless these muscles look _usable_. Probably not enough to lift her like Simba but. Still coolio. “Are you in the service?” It’d be a pity if she were; Aerith’s made it a rule not to date military people.

Tifa’s head snaps back to attention. “No; the military is an imperialistic institution that preys upon vulnerable communities with its recruitment.” Her gaze bores through Aerith.

Aerith shrugs as nonchalantly as she can. “What can you do about it?” To steer the conversation back onto less treacherous waters: “I’m just a humble florist.”

Tifa laughs awkwardly. “I suppose I’ve managed to pick up more theory from Barret than I thought.” She fidgets, but her eyes stare straight into Aerith’s again—and she thought it was just the light being strange, but they really are red, a deep dark lovely red, burning with the sort of passion Aerith has never really got. “It’s true, though.”

“Probably, but you still haven’t told me what your job actually is. Or if you’re kind enough to spare my weary arms and carry my bags.” And before Tifa can protest, Aerith dumps her bags in her definitely thief-proof arms. There, that’ll show her for trying to make Aerith think about depressing things!

...she keeps the bouquet in her cradle, though. She spent too much time on it to give it to just anyone. Or, well, anyone. Even mom.

Tifa, to her credit, takes the bags without complaint. “Sorry, I’m a bartender. At...” She pauses, drawing the word out. “Seventh Heaven? Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s over in Sector Seven.” She looks awfully expectant about something which Aerith honestly couldn’t tell apart from a rock on the ground.

“I don’t really follow that scene,” Aerith demurs. Having fun is, well, fun, but not enough that she’d go scope out spots on her own. 

“Oh,” and is just her imagination or does Tifa’s face fall more than just that of a woman passing the time should? “Well, you should. Drinks”—but her eyes are _definitely_ trailing down Aerith’s body—“are on the house.”

“You’re never going to make a profit like this,” Aerith swallows despite the easy smile she’s wearing, “offering free drinks to any pretty girl who chats you up.” Arrow loosed.

And right on the mark, given how Tifa’s cheeks flush yet again. “It’s just to get you hooked. Nothing more.”

Aerith lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, smile stretching further. She barely even notices Tifa pushing her bags back into her arms. “You really are interested in me.”

She can’t decide between being relieved or annoyed when the screech of the subway arriving drowns out the noise of her decidedly unplanned words. Tifa blinks, looking as nothing so much as a startled rabbit, while Aerith turns her head away and glares at the offending train.

“Ugh,” she says. determinedly careless. “When are they going to fix that?” Her arms are crossed and her foot is tapping the ground.

“Did you really say that?” Tifa interrupts, and even though Aerith was hoping for that it still comes as a bit of a shock. “That you…” She takes a single step forward, but with the length of her legs it’s more like a stride. “ _Liked_ me?” She’s towering over Aerith, and even though she’s a girl it ought to be a bit scary but for the fact that she’s blushing like all hell and looks nothing so much as if she’d be less surprised if Sephiroth burst in on a unicycle juggling pies.

Behind Aerith, the subway doors slide open with a soft hissing noise. “If you want. If you want, I can do a lot of things.” It’s a bit too matter-of-fact to really work, but saying it like that’s almost become habit regarding her hookups by now.

“You’re a lesbian,” Tifa states to herself, eyes staring straight at every inch of Aerith and reconsidering them almost hungrily.

It’s an odd feeling, being looked at with such admiring-Venus levels of want. Aerith’s not sure whether she likes it or not yet, but it’s certainly not like anything she’s ever experienced before. “Bi, but yes.”

“That doesn’t really matter,” Tifa says in a very distinct and spacey the-only-thing-that-matters-right-now-are-your-boobs tone of voice.

“Perhaps,” Aerith hedges, unsure if Tifa’ll keep singing that tune once the initial buzz has faded, and then takes back her bags, ignoring how distinctly warm and callused Tifa’s hands feel. “Well, it’s been fun, but I don’t wanna miss the train?”

Tifa nods dumbly as Aerith pushes through the crowd with all her practiced strength. “Wait,” she says, as Aerith steps onboard, “your flowershop.”

“Hm?” Aerith turns back. Tifa’s pushing a strand of hair behind her and looking at her with painfully pleading eyes. Some hipster shoves past her with overdone cologne, but she just elbows him off. “What about it?”

“Its name!” Tifa has to cup her mouth and shout to be heard over the noise of the chattering people and closing doors—

“Gaia’s Gifts!” Aerith yells just as the door slides shut, so close she can almost feel the movement of the air as it pops shut.

The train shudders and starts to move. Tifa’s run up to the edge of the platform and is waving goodbye. And as the train starts to speed away, Aerith waves as well, even though she’s strangely certain that this won’t be the last time they meet.


End file.
